


Instructor's-Eye View

by MagpieMinx (CardinalFox)



Series: ...Then Still I Would Love You. [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Boss/Employee Relationship, F/M, Overthinking, POV Second Person, Pre-TFA, Reader-Insert, Sass, Slice of Life, Snark, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-06 02:41:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6734650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CardinalFox/pseuds/MagpieMinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6090745/chapters/13960420">Crash Course</a> containing moments from General Hux's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before

**1: In Which General Hux Is Not A Cannibal**

_ “Most people do tend to find me a little disarming, sir,” you say demurely from beneath lowered lashes in a show of modesty that is half sincere and half not.  You wonder if you’ve made a mistake when General Hux’s little expression of amusement vanishes as he re-evaluates you to what you’re fairly certain is a much higher standard than he’s used previously.  Given how high his expectations are already, you don’t expect to pass this time, but you hold onto your faux-innocence bravely.  It’s not as difficult as you thought it would be, and then the tension eases a little as General Hux settles back into his chair looking thoughtful. _

_ “I would very much imagine that they do,” he says neutrally, and it’s the closest you’ve ever heard him come to being impressed. _

~

“Most people do tend to find me a little disarming, sir,” she says demurely from beneath lowered lashes.  The attempt at modesty after that innocent smile comes off entirely too sincere, and he knows better than to trust it, saw the gears grinding in her head before she chose to display that particular smile, but still it looks  _ believable _ .  He feels a strange urge to tuck his aide into his side and keep her there, away from the rest of the base, protected from the cutting, cynical glares of other officers.  She doesn’t need to be protected, seems not to feel the barbed arrows shot at her back, barely responds to the ones aimed directly at her face.  She faces her critics head-on and either delivers a brief and brilliant rejoinder or coolly stares them down until they feel foolish.  No, she doesn’t need him to shield her from the base’s mistaken belief that her job is an easy one.

He feels his expression shifting from the amusement he felt only moments ago to something too intense, manages to end with something more evaluative as he reminds himself that she’s demonstrating how well she  _ can _ use her perpetual smile.  Charming, yes, disarming?  Exceptionally so, when she wants to be.  He thought that maybe he could hone her natural habits into something she could easily wield only to find that she had sharpened the blade herself and was able to utilize it as proficiently as he could have wished.  He might have picked her straight from the Academy to balance Ren’s influence in his life, but she has other qualities that suit her nicely for the position he’s given her.  Adaptability, for example, as well as intelligence, a strong conception of herself, uninfluenced by the words or others, social adeptness and dedication to her work that goes beyond fulfilling her duty.

“I would very much imagine that they do,” he responds, impressed despite himself.  It really shouldn’t be such a surprise, but he finds himself pleased to be right, satisfied as she blushes and ducks her head to show gratitude for something that’s less a compliment than an agreement.

~~

**2: In Which General Hux Has What Is Called In Parlance ‘A Day’**

_ “I’m sure everything will be fine, sir,” you tell him with the quiet confidence of a faith you don’t quite feel, and when he turns to look at you with tight eyes and a thin-pressed mouth beneath his command cap, you offer him your most reassuring smile.  Amazingly, this gesture has no small effect on the red-headed General, and you can feel his agitation lessen as if he at least wants to believe you. _

_ “Let us hope your optimism is rewarded,” he responds, the words clipped as he turns away, but he’s more settled than he was before, and you tuck your astonishment away to examine later when you have the time to do so. _

~

“I’m sure everything will be fine, sir,” she murmurs, sounding so confident that he turns to look at her sharply, not appreciating her thoughtless platitudes.  She glances up at him, takes in his severity before smiling up at him with perfect confidence.  Dedication, diligence, and duty are all concepts he’s familiar with and personal loyalty he understands, but this kind of unshakeable  _ faith _ is an altogether different beast.  If it were a soundwave, it would be of a completely new frequency, at an amplitude with the power to shake him to the core.  

Many in the Order might find him inspiring, but that, too, is something different from the thing she radiates with such surety.  He has to hold himself at a distance from the Order, but there can be no pretenses with someone who spends most of their waking hours with him.  For her, if for no one else, he can be no more than human.  He scrutinizes her face, but her expression doesn’t waver as he looks for any indication of doubt, any kind of weakness, anything to prove to himself that this isn’t a genuine sentiment.  She doesn’t falter at all, and he doesn’t understand it because she is the last person he would expect to follow him blindly.  

It’s one thing to be admired as an aspiration and a symbol, but another to be held in such high esteem even after showing someone so much humanity.  The woman brings him food and drink, arranges much of his schedule, has handed him packs of cigarettes as he left the office to go to the refresher.  Once she even stopped him from walking out the door without his command cap because it had fallen out of the pocket of his greatcoat.

All of these seemingly insignificant details add up to one great truth: she has seen too much of his humanity to look at him like he is some kind of infallible immortal.  In spite of that truth, she looks up at him with the simple belief of a child, trusting that all will come out right in the end, that he will handle this situation as appropriately as he handles every situation.  All the nervousness and tension he is currently shouldering, that weighs him down, can and will be thrown off as a matter of course.

If it were honest naivety he would be disgusted, but she is not naive and instead he finds himself flattered and soothed.  His agitation, his dread, and his irritation don’t dissipate, but they do settle into something more bearable, or at the very least something more manageable.  He turns this effect over to examine it, notes that this is exactly what he had hoped for, finds that he’s still unsettled by it.  He wanted the equivalent of a well reinforced duracrete wall to put his back against when his ambitions and duties demand too much of him, something to lean on, subtly and quietly, in those moments when he needs it.  Now that he has it, he’s not entirely sure what to make of her.

“Let us hope your optimism is rewarded,” he answers, and the words are still clipped, but he sounds more sure of himself, is bolstered by the strength he hears in his own voice as he turns away from her and goes back to waiting for Ren.

~~

**3: In Which General Hux Reminds You Not To Kill Anyone Without Permission**

_ “So that was you,” General Hux says finally, and this suspiciously innocuous comment sounds like the prelude to something awful, so you ready yourself for the worst as best you can.  Let the axe fall on your head, at least you were honest.  You had liked being General Hux’s aide while it lasted, and you’ll miss the perks of quiet hours working with him and having people jump when you tell them to on his behalf. _

_ “Don’t kill anyone without my express permission, Lieutenant,” he continues sounding very grave, but there’s an undercurrent of amusement in his tone.  Your head snaps up in disbelief, and you take in the curl of a rare smile, the bright, laughing shimmer of starlight eyes. _

_ You become firmly convinced that you are dreaming and waking up is absolutely out of the question. _

_ “Sir, yes, sir,” you bark, snapping into one of your most perfect salutes and a roguish grin to hide your bone-deep relief. _

_ “Very good, Lieutenant,” he says, nodding his approval. _

~

“So that was you.”  He recalls the incident fairly clearly, or at least, he recalls hearing about it.  It had been the subject of gossip in the Order for a solid month.  It wasn’t that it was unusual for cadets to be injured, even killed, during the course of their training and bullying wasn’t unheard of either.  In fact, it often persisted through the early years of service.  Typically, it settled into patterns of petty one-upmanship that he tolerated in the ranks so long as it didn’t interfere overmuch with the fulfillment of duty and productivity.

What was, or had been, completely unheard of was a cadet trying to outright  _ murder _ another, though from the account she had just given, murder hadn’t been her actual goal.  The other piece of the incident was that she had gotten  _ caught _ , something the gossip had made much of.  He had heard a lot of the usual blustering about how someone believed they could have done it better, gotten away with it, and that it must have been a particularly stupid cadet to have planned it so poorly.  A particularly stupid,  _ male _ cadet had been the assumption, but neither of these two descriptors fit his aide.  

He considers how carefully she worded this brief, streamlined story, fits the narrative to her character and then fills in the gaps.  She hadn’t gone forward with her plan with the intent to kill, though he finds it unlikely that she would have regretted it if she had.  He understands retribution, has dealt enough of his own that he can’t possibly find fault there, and besides that, she’s already been punished enough for it.  With her proficiency in hand to hand, he can easily imagine how many hours she’s invested in it over the years, and what a blow it might be to be denied not only recognition, but any further official participation.

It’s only after he’s reviewed all of the relevant information and his cautious speculations that he sees her face.  Her expression is steely, almost sad, full of regret as she stares at the ground.  Her head is bowed, as if she’s waiting for something inevitable, and it takes a moment for him to realize that she’s waiting for him to dismiss her.  He’s taken aback, almost shocked, not sure why she’s jumped to that conclusion so quickly, but he discovers a reassuring, ready response on the tip of his tongue already.  He feels his whole face shifting in an unfamiliar way as he anticipates her reaction of what he’s of a mind to say.

“Don’t kill anyone without my express permission, Lieutenant,” he tells her as gravely as he can manage under the circumstances.  Her head snaps up in shock, wide eyes searching his face for sincerity, anxious for understanding, hoping for some kind of approval.  She lights up at the lack of judgement at least, tension melting away as her shoulders drop and her back straightens.

“Sir, yes, sir!” she barks, and then snaps into the most textbook perfect salute he’s ever seen, unable to keep herself from grinning delightedly in her relief.

“Very good, Lieutenant,” he responds, nodding his approval of her immediate acceptance and lack of suspicion.  Her trust feels good, is something precious that he wants to keep, contributes to the growing fondness for her that sits somewhere in his chest rather than his head.  It’s much more personal than anything he should allow, but he rationalizes it, reminding himself of all the effort he’s put into molding his hand-picked assistant.  Why wouldn’t he feel something more personal for her?

~~

**4: In Which General Hux Exerts Authority**

_ “Do you want to die?” you snarl at him, and you sound more animal than human and it would frighten you if there wasn’t still too much adrenaline in your system.  The hormone overrides your better judgement, makes you less aware that the superior you have spent your entire brief career trying to impress and satisfy is standing right there.  You’re focused instead on the fact that if security doesn’t get here soon and no one pulls a blaster on this idiot of a spy, then he’ll work up enough courage to try to fight you again.  You’ll end up on the floor and it’ll be a nasty fight, and one you might not win.  The thought that you might legitimately fail at something directly in front of General Hux reminds you that he is, in fact, right there.  Furtively, you check his expression again and find his face just as impassive as it was before, but it’s different this time.  Rather than taking in the tableaux before him, he meets your eyes, holds your gaze, demands your attention, and this development throws your hormone-induced certainty off-kilter. _

_ “Lieutenant,” he says, and his voice is heavy with an authority that blankets your fury, extinguishes the flames and drags the rest of you out from underneath it.  It’s a disconcerting experience to say the least because you’re not in the habit of feeling like you’ve lost yourself to anything, much less your own anger.  His face is still blank, still as devoid of disapproval as it is of approval, and your nervousness increases as you start to actually feel somewhat lost. _

_ “Sir?” you manage to respond, and the word is not the acknowledgement you meant it to be, but an uneasy question.  You wonder if you look as unsure as you suddenly feel, nervousness making you aware that there’s a tremor in your hands and you don’t know when it started.  It’s a trivial thing to worry about considering the situation as a whole, but you want to know, and you want to know if anyone has noticed it.  You would especially like to know if General Hux has noticed, but this is not the time to ask, not when you just incapacitated a would-be assassin in front of a roomful of people. _

_ “Stand down,” he orders, his voice is calm, even, but still weighted with that expectation of being obeyed, his eyes never wavering from yours.  It’s almost as if he’s trying to tell you something with the force of that look, but you have no idea what the message is supposed to be when there’s not a trace of anything besides that terrifying blankness. _

_ “Woof,” you mumble as you obey and step away from the spy.  It’s not until both your feet are back on the floor that you realize that you’ve said it loud enough for General Hux to hear.  Anxiety floods you and you’re so overcome with dread that you’re not aware of much besides the sinking of your stomach.  It’s takes another few heartbeats before you catch the way a corner of General Hux’s mouth has curved ever so slightly upward.  He looks like he’s fighting a smile, and suddenly relief washes over you and you have to keep yourself from reeling. _

~

“Do you want to die?” she snarls, ferocity rippling in the undertones of her voice in a way that makes him feel a sliver of unwarranted fear.  He’s the last person she would turn all that savagery on, is more loyal to  _ him _ than she is to the Order.  All that vicious, brutal efficiency lurking under her surface isn’t something he thought he would ever see displayed so blatantly though.  It’s true that they’re preparing for the coming war, but he won’t be seeing much of the frontlines, and by extension, neither will she.  Yet there’s a part of him that’s reassured to know that in the event of an emergency she will bring all her considerable skills into play.  If everything fell apart at the seams, they would more than likely find a way to make it out alive, to retreat and regroup, gather their resources and come back with a vengeance.

Except all the logical machinations of his mind feel distant under the influence of sleep deprivation, and when she glances from her prone and panting prey to him all he can see is the sharp, wild flash of her eyes.  He’s careful to keep his expression blank, not wanting to distribute his approval too early, lest they end up losing this potential source of information writhing under her boot.  Instead, he stares at her, lets his gaze bore through her, intent on subduing her aggression before it gets the better of her.  He doesn’t let his surprise show when her posture loosens slightly, draws upward slightly as her attention shifts from the spy to him.

“Lieutenant,” he says, pushing every ounce of authority he possesses into that single word, rendering her rank into something more than just a way of addressing her or getting her attention.  The word is heavy in his mouth, sounds still heavier in the air, and seems to extinguish her fury entirely, leaves her looking at him as if she’s can’t remember what just happened, can’t recognize where she is or why.  She looks  _ lost _ as she stares back at him, afraid and unsure and in need of some directive so that she doesn’t do the wrong thing.  The sudden realization of how  _ young _ she is almost takes his breath away, and he feels that knee-jerk reaction to tuck her under his arm and carry her away again.

“Sir?” she ventures tentatively, so uneasy that she turns the single syllable into a question that hovers in the air between them.  Her voice wavers, and when his eyes flicker down to her hands, he can see the fine, almost unnoticeable tremor shaking them.  She notices at least, because her loosened hands tighten back into fists as she self-consciously straightens up a little more, trying to hide her uncertainty.  Her worried eyes add another question to the one hanging between them already, but he can’t decipher what the question is and has to let it go.  There’s no room for him to attempt to do so, not with a spy on the ground and the whole of the command center watching with baited breath.

“Stand down,” he orders, and his voice is still weighty with expectation.  It’s too much, and he tries to balance it by attempting to subtly convey reassurance.  He doesn’t think it a successful attempt considering she looks no less self-conscious and no less unsure as she tries to read his face, but at the very least, she hears the order and obeys it without question.

“Woof,” she mutters, just loud enough for him to hear, and suddenly he’s fighting a weary smile even as she steps away from her prey and freezes.  If he were less concerned with keeping up appearances, maybe he would feel free to laugh at the comment.  It was clearly meant to be a private joke, a bit of ironic, self-deprecating humor, but it could have easily been construed as insubordination.  If he didn’t know her as well as he does, then maybe he would interpret it that way, but he does know her well and that is not the case.

She looks up at his face, sees something there that eases her short-lived terror, and breathes a sigh of profound relief as she sways on her feet.  He finds himself concerned that she’s dropping too quickly out of her adrenaline rush, is about to ask if she’s alright when a security team barrels through the doors, shouting and the moment is lost.

~~

**5: In Which General Hux Advises You**

_ “Inanity has always been a part of authority and responsibility,” Commandant Hux reminds his son, his voice severe and reprimanding, but he hasn’t moved an inch and your back and abdominal muscles are aching with the effort of holding yourself up in this unnatural position.  You find yourself tempted to just let yourself fall onto your desk, but that would draw more attention to you, not less.  More attention, at this juncture when the Commandant and the General are clearly engaged in a battle of wills, would probably be unwise.  Two looks of disapproval seem, to you, to be a very unnecessary addition to today’s trial by fire. _

_ “Well, that explains you,” you mutter under your breath instead, and immediately regret voicing the thought as the Commandant’s attention zeroes in on you with the precision of a laser slicing through the dark because he’s still far, far too close to you.  You have the irrational thought that he might be able to hear your heart pounding in your chest, but remind yourself firmly that the Commandant is, in fact, quite human and his hearing is not quite that good. _

_ “I wondered when that would come out.  You haven’t changed since you tried to murder Hitea.  The second you feel backed into a corner, you get mouthy,” Commandant Hux remarks sharply, closing the last bit of space between you with a small step, his chest nearly pressed up against yours.  You have nowhere left to go to get away from him, feel your lips pulling back from your teeth as a nonverbal warning that he needs to move back before he gets bitten- _

_ “She implied I was a cannibal once,” General Hux offers, his voice suddenly rich and lush with unfettered amusement in a way you’ve never heard before. _

~

“Inanity has always been a part of authority and responsibility,” his father intones severely without moving so much as an inch away from his aide.  The commandant has her backed into her own desk, tilted backward for just a little more space, her fingertips braced against the display.  She has commendable control of her face because it shows no fear, only irritation and inklings of her fury.  He’s grateful that he arrived before his father could fan her rage into proper flame, but that doesn’t mean that that particular event might not still occur.  She’s smart enough not to actively pursue career suicide, but that doesn’t mean she might not be goaded into it.  If anyone could do that, then it would be his father.

She mutters something unintelligible that causes his father to round back on her so abruptly that she flinches visibly, withdrawing from his contemptuous disapproval.

“I wondered when that would come out.  You haven’t changed since you tried to murder Hitea.  The second you feel backed into a corner, you get mouthy.”  The Commandant takes a quarter step toward his aide, invading what little space is left between them, and something about her expression shifts in response.  Her lips, a tight hard line of discomfort, part and show gleaming teeth in a primal threat, her shoulders no longer squared but slightly angled, predatory, her head tilting as she prepares to do something she will absolutely regret if he doesn’t interrupt it now.

If she weren’t backed against her desk, she wouldn’t even think of killing his father, and he has a flash of realization: she never thought of killing Hitea either.  There’s a similarity, too, to what happened with the spy masquerading as a technician.  She’s not easily roused to anger, can’t be or else a quarter of Starkiller’s population might be dead already, but when sufficiently provoked she erupts with murderous wrath.  Then again, murderous suggests some kind of premeditation, some kind of planning, and that’s not what he’s observed to be the case.  Rather, she seems to have a kind of instinctive drive to destroy what she finds overly disruptive or insistently oppressive.  If he doesn’t interrupt that build-up now, then the situation will get messy.

“She implied I was a cannibal once,” he says, allowing the full range of his voice to come into play.  He sounds not just amused, but pleased, the way some crime lord might sound after seeing a beloved and deadly pet threaten and savage a rival.  The effect on his father and his aide is instantaneous: his aide’s mouth drops open in horror as her cheeks flush dark (the overall effect is both absurd and charming) and his father straightens up in both shock and disapproval as the man steps toward him, away from his aide.

He engages his father and is immensely satisfied with the success of his verbal tactics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to break this up into two parts because all ten snippets was honestly a little ambitious for going through finals, but I also thought it was good because the split between before and after the relationship happened smack in the middle of the fic.
> 
> Anyhow, you can see how much more Hux thinks and analyzes. I headcanon that he thinks in numbers a lot too (mostly percentages and probabilities of action and consequence in terms of hypotheticals and potentials), but I didn't include that here because I want to deal more with his emotions. It could still come up, but we'll see.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this and that it lives up to expectations! It's been a bit of a trip going from "observing" Hux to getting in his head because his headspace is... intense. Also very densely packed to the brim with information. Like really, no wonder the man doesn't sleep.
> 
> Kudos and comments always appreciated from you lovelies, all those emails give me warm fuzzy feelings. Comments especially though! I still invite you all to copy-paste your favorite bits, or talk about Hux or ask questions, whatever strikes your fancy.


	2. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moments from Hux's point of view after the relationship started.

**6: In Which General Hux Advises You.  Again.**

_ “Your back is going to hurt again in the morning,” you remind him, taking a different tack in trying to get him to relocate.  He frowns, wrinkles his nose, and then rubs at his face with one hand. _

_ “You’re making me feel old,” General Hux grumbles from behind his palm. _

_ “You are old, sir,” you reply with prompt cheerfulness and sounding like you very much relish the chance to say so.  It’s not strictly true, but you don’t often comment on the gap between General Hux’s age and yours.  It’s something that you find, in all honesty, endlessly funny. _

_ “And you are a child,” he intones with more severity than is probably warranted for the situation.  You shrug his irritation off with a smile. _

_ “I thought you said I was  _ refreshing _ ,” you tease, laughter rippling under your words like water. _

_ “I regret telling you that.” _

_ “No, you don’t, sir,” you say, shifting your weight to your feet and getting up to hover over General Hux with a smile.  He looks up at you for a long moment, at your obvious fondness for him, the total lack of fear or intimidation in your expression, and then he cracks a smile himself.  It has the effect of softening his mouth and warming his eyes, makes him look approachable. _

_ “I don’t,” he confirms, reaching out to pull you back down on top of him and securing both your body heat and the blankets you took with you.  You don’t even pretend to hold out for the hope of his quarters, just drape yourself comfortably over his body and nuzzle your cheek into his chest.  He laughs once, briefly, and runs gentle fingers through your hair. _

~

“Your back is going to hurt again in the morning,” she says, her tone so mild that she almost sounds like a parent gently scolding a forgetful child.  Ironic, considering she’s the one sitting on the floor, blankets draped over her shoulders.  He reaches up to scrub at his face with one hand, his frown deepening, displeased at the roughness under his fingers as much as that tone.  Worst of all, she’s right: sharing her narrow bed will leave a dull, aching stiffness in his back and with that thought, he resigns himself to annoyance.

“You’re making me feel old,” he mutters, wishing she didn’t seem to know how tempting he finds the idea of relocation.  In a perfect world, they would have these trysts (Is that the appropriate word?  The term has a certain romantic connotation he doesn’t care for.) in his quarters, but the world they live in is far from perfect and reflecting on it further is a waste of effort.  He turns back to the stubble on his jaw instead, considers the idea of leaving a razor in her bathroom before he dismisses that too.  Forcing her to share her bathroom just so that he can linger in her space a little longer in the morning inconveniences her unnecessarily.  He sees her again as soon as she arrives at the office, tea, coffee, and whatever baked good that caught her eye in tow.

“You are old, sir,” she responds with unwarranted cheerfulness, as if she might start laughing at any given moment.  In another situation, he might encourage releasing that bright, dancing sound that’s so contagious that he can’t help but smile himself.  Sometimes he laughs too, but as things stand, he’s already irritated and she’s latched on to one of the few issues in their relationship he hasn’t been able to resolve.  Objectively, he’s still young and fit by most standards, but she ability to keep up with him doesn’t use up all her tireless energy.  Watching her makes him  _ feel _ the decade separating them.

“And you are a child,” he says more sharply than intended, and for a moment he’s afraid she’ll take offense.  His fear has as keen an edge as the knives in his bedside drawer, and it cuts deep into his thought processes with unpleasant ease.  It’s only when she shrugs and smiles that he realizes he was holding his breath.

“I thought you said I was  _ refreshing _ ,” she teases, laughter still rippling under her words like water.  Her good humor is an oasis in the frozen desert of seriousness that is the First Order, a landscape that they both can navigate well, but from which they need moments of respite.  The brief interlude away from their roles and duties is necessary for psychological resilience, he reminds himself.

“I regret telling you that,” he says because it’s not something that he wants to take back.  He’s surprised to find that he feels like she’s earned the descriptor.  Earned it, deserves it, owns the label now in a way that he would never have expected.  Then again, hasn’t that been the trend?  It seems less surprising when he thinks about the way she serves the purpose he procured her for, how well she does it, better than he dared to hope for, and he finds himself grateful for it.

“No, you don’t, sir.”  She rises from the floor, graceful as the fabric falling around her body as she holds it closed at the notch of her clavicle.  She leans over him, head cocked, eyes bright, her smile warm with simple affection.  There’s no fear or intimidation in her face, only sweet contentment as she looks down at him.  An answers smile spreads across his face unbidden, something in his chest he didn’t know was pulled tight suddenly relaxing in a sprawl of gentle heat.

“I don’t,” he confirms,  reaching out to take her by the shoulders and topple her in a flurry of cloth.  She lays over him, slots into the empty spaces his limbs have left, rubs her cheek against his chest and nuzzles closer as she sighs.  What he can see of her face look positively blissful, as if this moment is the epitome of everything she has ever wanted.  He can’t stop himself from laughing briefly as he runs his fingers through her hair and talks himself out of dropping an unnecessary kiss on her hair.

~~

**7: In Which General Hux Disapproves of Unconsidered Recklessness**

_ “I can try to intercept him, sir,” you offer instantly, and you probably shouldn’t be quite so eager considering the look General Hux levels at you.  You manage to keep yourself from bouncing on your toes at the prospect of action.  Your specialty may be hand to hand combat, but you have more than decent marks when it comes to close quarters combat and well above standard scores in proficiency with your sidearm.  You should easily be able to handle a single escapee. _

_ You have rarely felt so much like a leashed predator as you do in this moment. _

_ You watch General Hux with wide, hopeful eyes, silently begging for him to accept your offer.  You want to hunt this noncompliant prisoner-to-be down, want to wrangle him into submission, and most of all, you want to lay him out like the prey he is in front of your master.  You’ve done something similar before, though that ended rather differently than you thought it would.  General Hux had been concerned then about you losing yourself in your anger, but this is a new situation, and perhaps this time he’ll praise you.  If he’ll let you go, that is. _

_ “Make your preparations, Lieutenant,” he says after a moment of deliberation, and then turns away from you.  You don’t wait even a second as you spring away toward the shuttle, covering ground on light, quick feet. _

~

“I can try to intercept him, sir,” she offers, the words coming out of her mouth so quickly that he immediately pauses and turns to stare at her.  She’s not quite bouncing on her toes, but her eagerness is impossible to mistake as she stares up at him with wide, pleading eyes.  He can read in her open face the hope that he’ll let her off her proverbial leash.

He wants to remind her that this is not an exercise, that her above standard scores in close quarters combat and sidearm proficiency do not mean she is as prepared as any of the Stormtroopers under Phasma’s command.  One miscalculation on her part and she could be injured, might even meet an untimely demise.  He doesn’t have the time to train another aide, and his personal feelings make him want to order her to stay at his side.  Between the two of them, he’s confident they could handle anything, come what may, but there’s no reason for her to seek out gratuitous danger.

He wonders, briefly, if she’s thinking of the spy who was posing as a technician.  She had taken the man down handily, though she’d been embarrassed in the end that the adrenaline had gotten the better of her, made her furiously protective of him.  Still, she had been proud, too, that she had come between him and bodily harm.  She wants to do it again, lay out her prize in front of him, a gift displayed for the master she serves with such fierce adoration.

“Make your preparations, Lieutenant.”  He turns away as she springs back toward the shuttle, jogging and already unhooking the belt around her waist, wishing he had a legitimate reason to tell her no.  It’s only one man, and in light of all he knows, maybe she needs an outlet beyond the required training exercises.  Perhaps a taste of real combat will settle the battlelust he knows hiding under her skin.  Real battles aren’t guts and glory, but age hasn’t tempered her taste for blood yet.  It’s only natural for her to seize the opportunity when it falls directly into her lap like this.

The decision to indulge her leaves him uneasy, but it’s a decision already made.  He turns his attention to how he intends to follow up on that decision.

~~

**8: In Which General Hux Gives An Unsatisfying Answer**

_ “Will you be alright, sir?” you ask finally, unable to help yourself anymore. _

_ “I’ve dealt with migraines before,” he responds tersely, the words clipped.  You don’t take his irritation personally, though it stings a little as you shrug it off. _

_ “I know.”  You watch as his hand drops, as he looks back at you, his expression partly pained, but otherwise unreadable.  You wonder if your concern is showing, if he can see the sympathy in you, figure that probably he can which is why he’s still here in the hallway, some three paces away. _

_ “I suppose it doesn’t matter much anymore, trying to keep it secret.  It’s what they all think anyway,” he grumbles as he turns away, opening the door to his quarters and passing through before you hear, “Come in before I change my mind.” _

~

“Will you be alright, sir?” she asks from in front of her door, sounding as if she’s been trying to refrain from asking this question when the answer is evident.  Of course he’ll be alright, he’s always dealt with his migraines just fine on his own.  He is clearly still the face of the First Order.  Ordinarily, he wouldn’t deign to even respond to a question as insulting as this, particularly not with so obvious an answer, but affection and guilt conspire to grate on his conscience.  Her concern is honest and real, and he should be gracious enough to acknowledge that instead of snapping at her.

“I’ve dealt with migraines before,” he says, and the words are terse, more than he would like.  She looks a little pained by such brevity, but she subtly rolls her shoulders and lets it go as he watches her from beneath the hand he’s using to shade his eyes.  He can see her conscious decision to ignore the tone he used, confident in her belief that his shortened temper should be ascribed to the pain of his migraine rather than actual irritation.  He feels a distant kind of satisfaction that she can put her personal feelings aside and identify situational factors rather than instantly labeling them personally.

“I know.”  She says it simply, holds his gaze with the kind of compassion that he knows the Academy generally beats out of its cadets.  Nine times out of ten the Academy does it well, judging by the way everyone below him scrabbles for power, ambitions frequently outweighing competency.  He remembers, briefly, the vipers that fawned over him when he visited the Academy, the stark difference between those trying to hide their claws with poisoned sugar and her steady, milk-and-honey warmth.  There’s a faint echo of the relief he felt then reverberating in his chest now as she looks at him.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter much anymore, trying to keep it secret.  It’s what they all think anyway,” he grumbles as he turns back to the door, not wanting to sound so gruff, but knowing that it’s too late to take the words back.  He feels a spike of anxiety that transforms into a stab of pain somewhere behind his eyes as the door to his quarters opens.  “Come in before I change my mind.”

It’s a bold move, and not one that he ever planned to make.  One of the silent promises he made to himself when he decided to let himself pursue her was that he would always go to her quarters, never let her come into his.  He’s never wanted to share his personal space regardless, but it also would have highlighted the differences in their ranks too much.  It was so much easier for him to descend to her level in specific, premeditated ways, made it much harder for his rank to erase her ability to tell him no.  Subjecting himself to the cramped space of her room was one of his key methods to that.

It feels like weakness to make this concession, both to her and to himself, but there’s something right about it too, like mechanicals snapping together into optimal functioning.  

~~

**9: In Which General Hux Accuses You of Being A Smart-Arse**

_ “What did you do?” he asks, his tone dry and flat and mildly exasperated, like a parent speaking to an overly mischievous child.  It also sounds a little like he wants to laugh, there’s a rippling undertone to those four words, but this hint is not reassuring enough for you to just come out and  _ tell _ him.  It’s the principle of the thing, right?  Do rule-breakers have principles?  You’re not sure, but you suspect that this might be a romanticized kind of rule-breaker who has such vaunted things as  _ principles _.  Either way,  _ you _ have principles, and one of these principles is  _ not incriminating yourself _ when you do happen to knowingly violate regulations. _

_ “I performed to the best of my ability, sir,” you respond promptly, the rote answer of troublemaking Stormtroopers and underperforming officers everywhere even though you fit in neither category. _

_ “I’ve a feeling I should check your rucksack,” he says after a long pause, watching you through narrowed eyes, knowing exactly what your answer means. _

_ “As you please, sir,” you answer, shoving yet more food into your mouth as you brace yourself for the consequences and anticipate the inevitable conversation that will follow.  There’s no helping it.  He knows.  He knows that you know he knows.  You know that he knows that you know he knows.  How many knows can you put in a sentence?  You would find out, but then you would never finish your dinner. _

~

“What did you do?” he asks flatly, feeling more like a parent than anything else.  It’s not a particularly pleasant feeling, not when she should be old enough not to indulge herself in such pettiness.  She’s lucky, he thinks, that they’re in his office and there’s no one to hear the conversation.  He won’t send her to reconditioning for giving herself an unfair advantage on the exercise, but he’s considering making her repeat the damn thing.  Phasma has at least one, possibly two more rounds of Stormtroopers to take out onto the tundra overnight, and the Lieutenant could join them if need be.

“I performed to the best of my ability, sir,” she answers without missing a beat, as if she says the phrase every day.  While Phasma was only  _ suspicious _ , unable to confirm whether or not the Lieutenant had a night vision scope even after a group packing session, the use of that particular phrase seals his own suspicions.  It’s a set of words that every commanding officer is familiar with, typically as an unofficial acknowledgement from junior officers and Stormtroopers alike of underperformance.

The strange part of the whole thing is that his aide has no record of underperformance and her scores, while improved to a degree that raises eyebrows with close attention, was perfectly plausible.  That and the unusual confidence with which she’s said it suggests that either her result is perfectly honest or she’s very sure that he’s willing to let the incident slide.  The latter seems more likely despite the fact that Phasma saw no proof, if only because he hadn’t expected to see her today at all.  Since she showed up to the office with both her rucksack and her dinner to pick up her usual duties for a couple of hours, he’s feeling indulgent.

“I’ve a feeling I should check your rucksack,” he replies after his moment of thought, watching her through narrowed eyes.  His threat sounds more sincere than he meant it to, but he decides on a whim that if she refuses (unlikely) or points out that Captain Phasma has already seen the contents (more likely), then he’ll refrain.  What’s most likely to happen, however, is that she’ll simply invite him to open up her bag-

“As you please, sir,” she responds, sounding very unconcerned.  For a moment, amusement threatens to override the stern look he’s giving her, but he manages to hold onto it as he pushes his chair back and rises.

~~

**10: In Which General Hux Emerges Victorious**

_ “Can’t we just leave?” you mumble, immediately regretting saying it because it sounds childish, whiny.  Your eyes drop to the glass in your hand and you grimace at it before drinking from it again.  There’s perhaps a quarter of the glass left, maybe three mouthfuls or so. _

_ “Then give me an excuse,” General Hux responds, his brief laugh slightly strained as he nudges you just a little closer to him than is strictly appropriate.   _

_ “Your excuse is that I want to leave,” you say decisively, lifting your chin determinedly and trying for an imitation of the tone he uses when he refuses to tolerate even a hint of hesitation.  You narrow your eyes and stare him down, have the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen a fraction. _

_ “You’re very good at that,” he comments, examining your face with something more thoughtful than carnal in the purse of his lips, “Are you trying to emulate me?” _

_ “ _ Brendol _.”  You say his name with such severity that he snorts, and exasperation prompts you to throw back the rest of the drink as a way of expressing your frustration. _

~

“Can’t we just leave?” she mumbles, embarrassed at the way he’s outed the reason for the charming blush tinting her cheeks, ignoring entirely the not-quite-plausible story of being a lightweight with alcohol.  He has no idea what her alcohol tolerance even is since the rare occasion on which they drink usually amounts to no more than a glass each.  She could be entirely sincere, but he saw how much she ate during dinner.  Even if she has a very low tolerance, she wouldn’t be tipsy after this little glass of carbonated alcohol.

“Then give me an excuse.” He can’t help a chuckle at her lapse into childishness, the way she grimaces at her drink the moment she hears herself, but his laughter has an edge to it that he can’t hide and he draws her a little closer to distract himself.  He tightens his fingers on her hipbone, mimicking the pressure with which she grips his forearm through his sleeve.  It’s not appropriate for polite company, suggests a kind of desperation they would never ordinarily allow themselves.  For a moment, he marvels at his own ingenuity at asking her to play his wife, at giving them both the kind of free rein to behave this way without fear of the repercussions.

“Your excuse is that I want to leave.”  She lifts her chin suddenly, her jaw set and her eyes narrowing as she stares up at him in a way that demands unhesitating obedience and will not tolerate dissent.  For a heartbeat he considers obeying, intrigued at this sudden unveiling of an uncanny ability to seize authority that he knew she possessed, but had never dared to direct at him.  She scrutinizes his face with a kind of haughtiness that looks vaguely familiar, and then his eyes widen when he understands why: how many times has he seen it in the mirror on his own face?

“You’re very good at that.  Are you trying to emulate me?” he inquires, looking down into her face, analyzing and assessing just how closely she’s imitating him.  She has precisely the right amount of conviction in her face, paired with an emotional distance that makes her look glacial and imperious.  She wears the look so well that it’s difficult to tell that it’s borrowed, and there’s no indication that it’s feigned.  He’s inordinately pleased that she manifests command so flawlessly, secretly flattered that she’s chosen his brand of intimidation to espouse, proud of the way she manages it in spite of not having his height.

“ _ Brendol _ .”  The severity with which she says his name is in keeping with the attitude of authority she’s donned, like a cloak she’s stolen from his shoulders, but that in and of itself renders it comical.  If he were anyone else, it would be wildly effective, but he’s the one she learned it from and he can’t suppress his snort of amusement.  She drops the affectation and pouts at him for a moment, then drains the rest of the alcohol in her glass in one go.  He finds himself grinning, both at her frustration and his thwarting of what was likely her only trump card as he begins planning just how he’s going to orchestrate their departure from the party.

She did just finish the glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that wraps that up! I hope you enjoyed Hux's take on all these moments. I had a different moment picked for 6, but a couple of comments and input from a friend about how great the moment was convinced me to go with Hux's feelings about being called old.
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated! Copy-paste your favorite line or just tell me how much you love Hux, it's all good.


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